


Black Holes and Revelations

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Depression, Guardian Angels, Hopeful Ending, Hospitalization, Loss of Faith, M/M, Soul Bond, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8074300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The sky is often blue, water is always wet, and Josh is Tyler’s angel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO FRIENDS! FINALLY! For a while I considered this story to be my white whale but after months and months of writing and processing and all around stressing out of my ass over this fic it's finally finished. I'm really really proud of how this turned out for several reasons. It's no where near phenomenal but it's something that's taught me a lot about myself. I've grown as a writer and storyteller and for THAT I am always thankful. It's not a big deal, but you know. I'm humble. Also, DISCLAIMER: I know nothing about hospitals, or how long a medically induced coma is SUPPOSED to last so please, remember it's all for the drama. All feedback, death threats, and constructive criticism is/are always welcome! Enjoy! 
> 
> (P.S. This is dedicated to everyone I've ever told I'm writing for. I wasn't because of this. I should be now. Love you Ian, Abbey, Laurel, and Conner. always always.)

Tyler shouldn't be alive.

An hour ago he was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously clutching a bottle of his brother's painkillers. His blunt nails scratched at the dark wood below his palms and his feet tapped sharp against the linoleum. He had an hour. An hour would've been plenty of time. He could've swallowed every last little white pill in that bottle and had been done with it. Done with _pretending there was anything left in him._ Seventeen years was more than enough.

Unfortunately though, whoever was looking out for him was extremely intrusive because 45 minutes after he'd downed the bottle his family had come home early. Of course Tyler had moved and was passed out on the bathroom floor. He might’ve had a flare for the dramatic but he wasn't going to make dinners awkward from there on out.

Still, that wasn't the point.

The point was that he survived and he wasn't fucking supposed to. His mother wasn't supposed to fall to her already bad knees in horror. His sister wasn't supposed to run off crying, her blonde hair sticking to her tear streaked cheeks. His father wasn't supposed to scream at his brother to grab the phone, to _“call 911 do something god damn it.”_

He wasn't supposed to be rushed to the emergency room. He wasn't supposed to make a big deal out of this.

None of that was supposed to happen because he was supposed to be gone before any of them came home.

Now, he's only sort of gone. He's phasing in and out of consciousness as he suffocates on a stretcher.

The last thing he remembers is someone, a woman in her late 20s, telling his parents that they were going to pump his stomach. This was a normal day for her. She was only doing her job. She was going to go home later that day, slip off her shoes, turn on the TV, watch a few reruns, then fall asleep on her living room couch before emerging groggily from unconsciousness at 4am and doing it all again.

The next thing he remembers is waking up. Which is something he obviously didn't want to do. So he whines, high and soft from his chest.

This seems to stir a reaction because his mother is standing over him now. He can't feel much of anything but he _thinks_ he feels hot tears drop on the skin of his forearm. He wishes he had the strength to wipe them off. Get them off before he loses his mind.

The room is hazy and Tyler can't really focus. The TV in the corner blares something similar to Judge Judy and the IV in the crook of his elbow itches.

A team of nurses rushes into the room in slow motion, checking Tyler's vitals, pulling back the tape securing the needle in his arm then replacing it. They don't do much else. Just give him pitiful looks and take turns asking him if he can hear them.

He nods.

Then he remembers his mom. _Why is she crying?_ He thinks. _What have I done now to make her cry?_ He notices his father next, towering. Gripping his mother's shoulders like a guardian. Like a great protector. He looks down at Tyler, telling him with dark eyes that he'll never be fit to take his place. He'll never take care of her now. Not after this.

 _Then_ he remembers that he tried to kill himself. Somehow, the act of trying doesn't strike him as awfully as knowing he failed.

“Tyler, we were so worried.” His mother cries, her tears still falling over him, bathing him in guilt and saltwater. Drop after drop. “How could you do this to us. How could you scare us like that.”

Tyler tries to speak, tries to tell them that “ _It was never about you. I could only see one clear way out. Seeking solace doesn't make me fucking selfish.”_

But the words don't come out. His mouth opens and drool falls down his chin.

“You're lucky to be alive, Mr. Joseph.”

Tyler could only figure by the sound of his voice that this was his doctor. He strides into the room with practiced ease, and runs his hand through dark thinning hair with thick fingers. Tyler assumes he has a perfect marriage, 4 grown children, and takes a golf holiday once a month.  And he's a goddamn liar.

The doctor hands Tyler a Styrofoam cup full of water. His hands shake and tremble and he almost spills it all over himself but good lord it tastes like heaven. It coats his throat and hallelujah it's a miracle. He can speak.

“Go fuck yourself.” Is the first thing he says.

A mixture of his parents' voices boom in Tyler’s ears.

His mother's a familiar, “Tyler Robert!”

His father's, “Watch it young man.”

The doctor just laughs and waves a thick hand through the air. “No, it's alright Mr And Mrs Joseph it's _quite_ alright I understand. You did attempt suicide. The least I could do is avoid phrases like ‘you're lucky to be alive.’”

The tone of the doctor's voice sends Tyler sinking back into the bed. Shrinking so so small and bringing a hand to his throat brushing soft fingertips against his adam's apple as he gulps. “I'm sorry.”

“You were in a coma, Tyler.” The doctor pulls up a stool, one of the rolling ones, and sits like a doctor does. Khaki legs spread and apologetic healing hands clasped together on his lap. “You overdosed on oxycodone three weeks ago yesterday. Your liver almost failed.” The doctor twists the silver band of his wedding ring around his finger. “About 70 more minutes unconscious and your entire respiratory system would've been paralyzed, and you would've suffocated.”

Tyler's heart rate increases when he  stores this information. A coma. Another hour was all he needed.

He didn't even come close.

“Luckily, that didn’t happen. Three weeks is a week above standard for cases like this- your system was already pretty weak as it was- so your muscles have  just begun atrophying, and you'll be much weaker for a while. But,” He seems to finish, standing up and brushing his hands off on his pants. “We're probably only looking at another month or two of observation and recovery.”

Tyler throws a glance his parents' way, overwhelmed by all this information. By the looks on their faces they've heard it all before and every time it does not fail to be just as painful as the first. He realizes then that if he'd died, they'd still hear it. They would be standing over their dead son in a morgue getting the same lecture.

What's sad is, Tyler thinks knowing this beforehand wouldn't have changed his mind.

“By the way,” The doctor walks up to Tyler's bed, narrowly missing the side that juts out just so that the healthy people don't get too close to the ill. Be it physically or otherwise. He takes Tyler's hand, his own surprisingly strong, introducing himself in a heavy chicago accent, “I’m Dr. Moretti.”

Tyler sits up further but doesn't respond. Just watches him leave.

 

•

 

Over the next few days Tyler's entire family visits him. Both sets of grandparents bring the same get well card and initiate the same ruffle of his hair. Like all he needs to get better is a poem written by someone at hallmark.  

There's only reluctance on Tyler's face as they all pile into the room, well exceeding the 3 visitor limit. They all seem to tiptoe around actually _talking_ to him so he tells them to pretend he just got his tonsils out. They all laugh nervously, falling into the same state of discomfort. It's hell, but his sister sits by his bedside and holds his wrist tight. Tyler looks in her eyes and sees more understanding and care than in all these people put together.

“It's like a little guardian angel.” His grandmother says through bitter tears, positioning a little stuffed bear on the chair next to his bed. The bear has a gold halo made out of a thick pipe cleaner and a pair of white cloth wings. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He stares at it for a long time after they leave that day.

At some point Tyler convinces his parents to go home, telling them he's a big boy and he can handle being by himself, but In all honesty he's just tired of looking at their faces. They're caked in despair and pity 24/7 and he's _absolutely_ sick of it. Guilty sick. Sick to his stomach.

So they leave in the morning. Telling him they’ll be back tonight and that they told the nurses to check in more frequently. He tells them they don't have to. They give him a dirty look.

As soon as they're gone Tyler sleeps. Honest to god eyes closed, judge Judy turned down to 4, pillows fluffed, slumber. It's incredible how quickly he dozes off.

Then the nightmares come. Visions of fire red skies and people, people he loves telling him to _“stop, Tyler, please. Just stop.”_ The trees on his front lawn are on fire and so is his house. Smoke pours out of the windows and open front door, but he knows his family's dead. They're always dead.

As quickly as the nightmare begins it ends and suddenly Tyler stops tossing and turning. His hair still sticks to his forehead but his heart slows and everything is lighter. The weight that's taken residence in his chest has been lifted and somehow his atmosphere feels...serene.

When Tyler opens his eyes there's a boy at the foot of his bed.

He looks to be about Tyler's age but he's never seen him before. He's pretty sure he's never seen anyone like him before.

“Sorry I'm late.” The boy says, voice not high but syrupy sweet. He's got pink hair. Pink like guts and flowers. He's beautiful.

Tyler doesn't know what he means or why he's here visiting him but he finds himself itching to reply anyway. “It's okay.”

They stand in silence for a moment before Tyler's itching to speak again, his own voice clawing at the top of his throat. “Who are you?”

The boy looks Tyler up and down, not hungrily or judgmentally, but softly. Not full of pity like everyone else. Tyler immediately trusts him. “My name's Joshua.”

Tyler nods, sitting up and pulling his blanket into his lap, twisting it in his fingers. “I'm Tyler.”

“I know.”

Tyler smiles when he says that. For some reason he feels like he's known this boy his whole life; like he isn't a random stranger that could've broken into the ICU. It's so insane Tyler laughs, for the first time in months. His stomach hurts just a bit at the way his muscles contract so quickly, but seeing as how Joshua smiles back at him the same way the pain is immediately soothed.

With one more steady drag of Joshua's eyes across Tyler's face he sighs, then turns and leaves without another word.

Tyler wishes he could get out of bed, run after this boy, spin him around and ask him _what he means_ , but he can't. So like everyone else, he let's him leave.

 

•

 

The second time the boy visits, is after a dream.

His parents had left for the third night in a row promising they'd be back like always. They'd brought Maddy this time. Her face had contorted into a teasing half smile; not one of pity but of encouragement. One of ‘ _I know you'll make it out. Of all the people in the world it's gonna be you.’_

He'd fallen asleep with hope in his bones.

Tyler doesn't usually dream. Songs don't come to him in his sleep, songs of light and people dancing and soft pink sunsets.

Pink like guts and flowers.

So when Tyler wakes up he's surprised to be calm, and to see Joshua again, fingers perched delicately on the railing of his bed like before.

“Hi, Tyler.”

“Who are you?” Tyler asks quickly, restraint completely abandoned as he sits up further, clutching at the burning in his hips. “Why are you here?”

Joshua just smiles at him, stepping around the side of the hospital bed and sitting in the green plastic chair. Dark green like forests in the rain. “I told you. I'm Joshua. And I'm here to see you.”

Tyler stares at him, taking in his earnest expression. He feels himself being drawn in deeper by something he can't see. How do you tell a boy you've just met that you want to drown in his eyes? Vats of burnt chocolate, dirty oceans, oil spills. Lightning stricken tree branches, mudslides, leveled mountain expanses. He wants to suffocate. “I tried to kill myself.”

Joshua only blinks. “Why'd you try to kill yourself?”

“Because there's nothing inside me to give.” Tyler finds himself spilling. He doesn't know why he can so easily share these things with someone he's barely glimpsed. He clears his throat, “Because-”

“You don't have to say anything else.” Joshua interrupts, his hands softly playing with the halo of the bear he now holds in his lap. “It's okay if you don't know. Sometimes we just don't know.”

Tyler nods, bringing his hand up to his throat. He presses his fingertips in lightly. His old therapist had told him it's a coping mechanism. _‘You always feel like you're choking. You like to remind yourself your feet are on the ground and there’s air in your lungs. You touch, you feel, you're real.’_

“Can I call you Josh?” Tyler finds himself asking moments later. His voice is smoother and his throat is clear, now. Not black chalk narrow.

“Yeah.” Josh answers. He stands up and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a pale yellow sticky note. It's folded in half and the thin strip of adhesive looks worn down as if the person who'd written on it had kept the note hidden away for years. Josh sets the note gently on the table. “I'll be back soon. As soon as I can.”

Tyler nods quickly, wanting to reach out. Wanting to touch. Instead, when Josh leaves the room again Tyler lunges for the note opening it carefully.

_‘Be safe. -j’_

 

_•_

 

“So how are the meds treating you?”

A woman looking to be in her early thirties pushes purple frames up the bridge of her nose. Her chestnut hair hangs in dull waves over her shoulders, the color unnatural. It drains her.

“Fine.” Tyler answers, the grip on his water bottle tightening. His thumbnail scrapes over the hospital logo. “I don't want to swallow an entire bottle of them anymore if that's what you're really wondering.”

His therapist sits up suddenly not uncomfortable, just surprised. “I wasn't, but that's always a good sign.”

Tyler crosses his arms huffing a sigh. This was his second therapy session with his new Therapist and he was already ready to lie his way through every formality. What made matters better though is Josh had visited every day since he’d given Tyler the note one week ago. They’d talk for hours about anything and everything. Josh told Tyler his favorite color was toothpaste blue, and Tyler had told Josh his favorite pastime is writing poetry about things he doesn't understand. Josh had asked if Tyler understands him. Tyler had smiled and said that he thinks he does. That was yesterday.

“You've been here a little over a month now, Tyler. I think we should really talk about what was going through your mind during the incident.” She says _incident_ with a venomous tongue. Like the _incident_ was him breaking his mother's vase or the law.

“I've been here for 6 weeks, and was unconscious for 3. I can't even get up and piss by myself without someone worrying, Angela. Do you really think talking about why my suicide attempt was unsuccessful would make me feel like moving on?” Tyler snaps, setting his water bottle back on the table.

Angela just rubs at her eye underneath her glasses, smudging the makeup she most likely forgot she was wearing. “I think we're done for today then. I'll see you on Thursday, Tyler.”

Tyler mumbles a goodbye, uncrossing his arms. He’d changed rooms a few days before, getting situated in the psych ward of the hospital to begin phase 2 of his recovery. The room looks the same and his doctor hasn't changed, but the rooms around him now contain people with the same wounds as his.

His parents had managed to find him the night he moved and brought him his notebook and some magazines. He'd opened the worn cover of the notebook immediately after they'd left and placed Josh's note inside. Not folded or crumpled. Just messy black ink smoothed over the page. Simple yet complex. Like Josh.

He's somewhat nervous now though, that Josh won't be able to find him. He might go to his old room and someone won't tell him where Tyler's moved. Would he be too weirded out to visit the ward? Would he think Tyler's crazy?

His head races faster than his heartbeat when he suddenly hears a knock on the door and in Josh walks. Looking brighter and more beautiful than he ever has.

Tyler's stomach flips.

Josh sits in his chair again- Tyler's started calling it Josh’s chair despite the majority of his family sitting in it almost as regularly as Josh has- Fiddling with the string on his hoodie. It's a pale blue. Toothpaste blue. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Tyler smiles. He _knows_ he's known Josh forever; it's clear to him now. His fingers feel familiar and his voice is one he's heard before in love songs and in the buzz of honeybees.

“How are you feeling?” Josh asks, toe tapping against the linoleum.

Tyler avoids saying, _‘calmer. You help me breathe.’_ And says “Better,” instead.

“Good.” Josh replies, seeming genuinely giddy and happy. He scoots forward in the chair and takes Tyler's hand from his lap. Josh’s fingers burn red hot and pulse under his skin. The heat travels to Tyler's cheeks.

“What're you so happy for?” Tyler asks, shifting his fingers so that his thumb brushes against Josh's knuckles. It's an innocent touch. One of friends.

“Do you trust me,Tyler?” Josh asks. He has a childlike wildness in his eyes as he presses a thumb into the inside of Tyler's wrist.

“More than anyone.” Tyler answers without skipping a beat. He's surprised that he isn't scared. Josh doesn't scare him.

Josh smiles then, tugging at Tyler's blankets. “Can you walk?”

 

•

 

“This is insane!” Tyler whisper shouts.

They're on their way down the hallway, all the lights are off and there are only a few nurses scattered throughout the ward. Tyler tugs the waistband of his too-big sweatpants up with his free hand. The other hangs intertwined with Josh's at his side. “Where the hell are we going?”

Josh peeks around the corner, spotting no one, so he speed-walks down the rest of the hallway tugging Tyler with him. “It's a surprise.” His smile is blinding as they turn a sharp left.

Tyler thinks he's falling in love.

“Is this okay?” Josh asks when he swings open a heavy door and they come face to face with a giant flight of stairs.

His hand splays across the small of Tyler's back almost like protection. Guidance. _‘If you can't I won't leave you.’_

“Yeah I'll just go slow.” Tyler assures. “Lead the way.”

When they reach the roof, Josh immediately makes his way over to the ledge and sits, patting the concrete like he's been up there before.

Tyler takes his time, staring in awe at the city around them. He takes in the colors of the signs and blinking lights of the cars moving so fast he can't hold their images. He's surprised too that the stars are so visible. Each one it's own beacon.

“How'd you get access to...up here?” Tyler asks, carefully climbing up the ledge and sitting on it. His hands shake as he lets his feet dangle against the building, so he pulls Josh's hoodie further around his torso. The wind nips playfully at his cheeks. He isn't afraid of falling; not literally.

“Magic.” Josh answers, smiling at the sky in the way that he does. Like it's a home that he loves, but isn't rushing to return to.

They sit in comfortable silence after that. The noises keep them awake, and Tyler gets lost in his mind. Josh pulls Tyler’s hand into his lap at some point and it tugs at his heart like a fishing hook, gutting him completely. How soft Josh is with him and how much he just wants to protect him burns a hole through his stomach. It's incredible how unafraid Tyler feels- how safe he feels- under Josh's gaze. Under Josh's hands. He remembers the note: _‘be safe'_ in Josh's messy scrawl and suddenly he's _crying._

“Oh, Ty.” Josh says softly, pulling Tyler into a hug, practically pulling the smaller boy into his lap. Josh kisses the tears adorning Tyler's cheeks and just holds him. Rubbing his back and up to his hair, touching him everywhere. Overwhelming him with feeling and whispering “ _You're safe. You're safe. You're safe_.”

Tyler scrabbles to clutch at Josh's shoulders, his white shirt wrinkled in Tyler's fists. He realizes suddenly why he's crying. The nothing inside him was spilling over into _something_ he couldn't even begin to understand. It’s dark and it's heavy and it spills blood-thick from his eyes.

“Do you think I'm crazy?”

“Maybe.” Josh says, then pauses. He rests his forehead against Tyler's, “I think you have a beautiful mind. It’s just loud sometimes.”

“I feel like I’ve known you forever.” Tyler whispers, the air between them abruptly warm and sweet. Cinnamon sugar breezes.

A flower petal curl falls onto where their foreheads meet. “Me too.”

Instead of replying Tyler brings a hand up to Josh's chin, He stares at his shut eyes. Eyelids soft, veins swirling blues and purples like the colors on his arm, all red yellow blue green brilliance. Josh’s jaw clenches slightly, breath growing heavy under Tyler's gaze. ‘ _How comforting it is,’_ Tyler thinks, _‘To find yourself in another person.’_

Then they're kissing.

It's slow and beautiful and feels like pure electricity. The lightning that struck the tree branches. Tyler doesn't feel heavy, but _light_ . Josh had taken his dark something and turned it into _safe safe safe_.

 _‘Another me in you,’_ Tyler thinks, _‘Another you in me.’_

Josh's hands tighten around Tyler's waist in a protective manner as his lips travel to just under the collar of Tyler's t-shirt, holding them there, feeling Tyler's pulse under his skin. “All the stars, Tyler,” He breathes, “They're all yours.”

 

•

 

The next week goes by in a blur of warm color.

Tyler’s parents begin to visit less often, but also notice their son getting brighter. He almost welcomes them into his room on evenings they decide to come in for visits. It’s good and it’s enough. They don’t ask.

Every night since their first kiss Josh has visited- luckily just missing Tyler’s parents’ departure every time- whisking him away to the roof like a princess in a fairytale. Like a dream he’d forgotten he’d had. They would sit and talk about the world and everything in it. Their hopes and worst fears. They would make out a little too, but the only traces of that are the lingering smiles and kind words to the nurses in the morning when Tyler pretends to wipe a full night’s sleep from his eyes.

The nurses are certainly taken aback at first because of his usually cynical behavior, but it becomes _nice_ when they notice the bags under his eyes getting darker and heavier but the rest of his skin glowing with youth.

Tyler finds himself smiling and laughing and loving and welcoming the world back in with open arms. But if you asked he’d certainly deny it.

His therapist sits with him now, on a bright and sunny Thursday afternoon. She twirls her hair silently. Tyler notices she’s gotten highlights, and her lipstick isn’t smudged on her teeth. She smiles at him warmly. “So, how are the meds treating you?”

He answers, almost, in his usual way, but his face glows, and she _notices._ She’s always noticing. Just like him. “Fine.”

Her fingers stall in her hair and she brings them down to her clipboard. She looks as if she’s contemplating something as she tosses it, and the pen onto her bag on the floor. “Off the record,” Her left eyebrow raises in suspicion, “You’re doing much better and It’s not because of the drugs. I don’t _know_ why, but if you want to talk about it I won’t write it down this time.”

This session seems far away from the second one a week and a half prior. This, now their fifth time meeting almost seemed childish in a way. Like they were friends gossiping at a sleepover.

“C'mon, Tyler.” She urges, lacing manicured fingers together. He wonders if she got some kind of bonus check for dealing with him. Or something entirely different. A man had asked her to dinner or her sister’s wedding was that afternoon. “I might be a _child psychologist_ ,” she uses air quotes around her title, rolling her eyes, “but I’m only 23, and you’re 17! You’re practically an adult.”

He glances around the room uncomfortably for a minute pondering. It takes every shred of willpower he has left to bite his tongue when all he wants to say is he's met a _boy_. A beautiful boy who has the galaxy painted on his arm. A boy who kisses him like the sun kisses the earth, and holds him like the earth holds the moon. He’s always left letting himself down. “There’s a- someone.”

Angela perks up then, like someone had slipped an IV of espresso into her elbow. “A someone?”

“Yeah it doesn’t really matter, though.” Tyler stammers, going to press cold fingertips to his throat before Angela’s hand stops him warily.

“No, it’s great. What’s her name? Or his name. I don’t judge.” She pulls her hand back, wiping it messily on her sweater. He sees the look in her eye as one trying to stay professional. She’s probably a sister or a daughter. A mother maybe. She has comfort in her blood.

“He has pink hair, and writes me notes,” Tyler mumbles softly, lost in thought. He thinks back to the morning after that first night on the roof. He remembers finding another note sitting on the table that read ‘ _How I’d end the world for you. -j,’_ and realizes quickly that he didn’t answer Angela’s question. “His name is Josh.” He whispers through smile-bared teeth, also noticing how her face falls just a bit, but she still seems genuinely interested.

“I’d love to meet him someday.” She answers just as quietly as Tyler had, glancing at her watch. “I guess if there’s no bad news, I’ll see you on Tuesday. Oh and hey,”

Tyler looks up from where he has his hands clasped gently in his lap, blush spread across his cheeks.

“Tomorrow’s movie night, you know, where they crank out the old projector in the lobby and all the kids invite friends or family or whatever.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, purple and thick like her glasses. “You should invite Josh.”

Tyler’s loud smirk and nod serves as a soundtrack to her heavy footsteps as she leaves the room.

 

•

 

“You can’t tell them.” Josh snaps, hands retracting. He clasps them and holds them ice cold steady in his lap. “You shouldn’t I mean. You shouldn’t tell them I’ve been coming to see you.”

Tyler sits up from where he lays in josh’s sweatshirt in the gravel of the roof. “Why not?” He reaches out to Josh taking his hands again, peering, watching the way they flex and shake aching to be left alone. “Why’re you shaking?”

Josh’s head whips up from where his eyes are trained on their hands and looks at Tyler. “I’m not.” Tyler’s eyes melt his exterior and the night air doesn’t seem as chilling anymore. “It’s just..my home you know. I’m not supposed to be here as often as I have been.”

“Is it your family?” Tyler asks, situating himself so that his legs are crossed and his thigh is flushed fully against Josh’s. He wonders momentarily if his theories about Josh being not of this earth were true with the way he says he isn’t supposed to be _here._ “I won’t tell if you’d get in trouble I-”

“I don’t have a family.” Josh interrupts. He doesn’t look as sad as Tyler thought he would though when he looks into his eyes. They’re just as safe and calm as they ever are. Not having a family isn’t something Tyler knew about him, but to Josh it just seems like something extra that he doesn’t tell many people because it’s just a fact. One of his nothings. Tyler doesn’t question it.

“Okay. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” Tyler agrees, nodding and cracking a small smile before crawling into Josh’s lap. Where he’d been before he was so rudely interrupted. “As long as you maybe do something for me?”

“Oh what I wouldn’t do for you.” Josh reveals before closing the gap between them.

 

•

 

When his parents ask him what he’s been up to Tyler doesn’t mention Josh. Just as he promised.

He doesn’t have anything _to_ mention really. He tells them he’s been getting to know some of the kids in the ward. He tells them he’d gone out to the rec room and played ping pong with one of the younger boys. He tells them he’d asked, the boy’s name was also Tyler, and that they’d had a good laugh about it too. They seem satisfied and don’t press further.

They never seem to press further.

Which should concern him. It used to, which now that he thinks about it seemed to be part of his great nothing. He knows they care for him but it’s in their own way. Never hovering unless necessary. He thought him being in the hospital would deem it necessary.

He has Josh, anyway.  

Tyler can feel him right now, his arm warm and heavy draped around his back crushed between that and a metal folding chair. His hand is splayed wide against his hip, rubbing light circles into the skin just under the hem of his shirt. It’s a grounding touch, but suddenly has Tyler aching for _more._

Angela was right about the projector being old. The movie unreeling and softly clicking is a bit distracting but then again so is Josh’s touch as Tyler tries to focus on the soft colors of the film he doesn’t recognize. It’s outdated and the smiles on the actors are too sharp. Too fake. A man kisses a woman with golden blonde hair cascading in curls down her shoulders and all seems to be right in the world. He doesn’t buy it.

“Odds are,” Josh whispers suddenly, stilling his fingertips on Tyler’s skin and leaning into him. “He breaks her heart, then says he’s sorry,” Josh then tightens his grip, pressing his fingertips back into Tyler’s skin roughly, “Then they get married because this girl, oh this poor girl, just doesn’t know him at all.”

Tyler’s breath catches in his throat when Josh loosens his grip again, fingers returning to their same steady rhythm, circling his hipbone then lying still against it. He doesn’t know where this sudden burst of urgency came from- he’s pretty sure Josh’s touches had just been accidental emphasis of his _words_ \- but he’s determined to find out just what game Josh is playing.

“I think they’re in love,” Tyler whispers back, leaning his head onto Josh’s shoulder and resting a hand against his chest. “It just takes a little time for him to realize, and she definitely _knows_ that about him it’s just hard for her because he’s who she’s always,” He rests a hand on Josh’s thigh, “Wanted.”

The room grows very dark suddenly when Josh rakes his eyes over Tyler’s face. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and his eyes are black, but not with anger, with what seems to be lust and surprise.

Tyler glances around the room then, making sure nobody else _felt_ that. He couldn’t possibly feel what he thought he just felt. Not here. The surge of electricity and heat. The burning star at the pit of his stomach. His itching.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Tyler,” Josh almost growls, so soft yet so sharp, piercing through the air like a stage-whisper.

Tyler’s taken aback for a moment. He’s never heard Josh say anything like that. Never is he so blunt or straightforward. His attention remains on the screen though, faded blues and golden yellows bounce and cast shadows across all of Josh’s features. He looks so utterly normal but at the same time so powerful and above all.  It’s really...

All Tyler needs.

“Josh…” Tyler whispers, quickly becoming breathless. His very big very loose pants suddenly fitting somewhat better. “ _Josh.”_

“Tyler.” Josh replies, quietly and calmly, making sure not to disturb any of the other families. Any sign of the exchange they’d just had has been smothered by Josh’s facade. “Do you want to watch this movie?”

Tyler remains utterly still in his seat, facing forward until Josh sets a hand on his thigh, fingers stroking softly upward. “No,” Exhale. “I want-”

“What do you want?” Josh’s fingers brush over Tyler’s inseam.

It comes out in the softest whisper, Tyler’s voice not nervous, but small.

“You.”

Tyler’s brain almost rips in two with how quickly he stands up after that. Josh’s hand clamps around his own, pulling him off the seat and towards the hallway like bubblegum off of hot concrete, melted and pliable and _wanting_ \- needing- so much.

Tyler thinks he can hear Josh mumble something when they reach his door; a whispered ‘ _fuck’_ or a sigh even, but all is forgotten when Josh opens the door carefully. Guiding Tyler through then shutting it in what seems to be- in the heat of the moment- one fluid motion. “Have you ever-”

“No,” Tyler answers. His shoulders move erratically with his breathing, like he has two different sized weights strapped to each of his arms. He isn’t nervous, though. Never has been since Josh showed up.

Josh nods slowly, straggling still-bubblegum hairs sticking to his forehead, before giving Tyler's body a once over. His eyes stain Tyler's skin with a gentle hunger as he walks to the bed and sits back against the pillows. A colorful smear against sterile white, demanding to be noticed. “Take your pants off for me?”

Tyler realizes immediately that Josh says it like a question. He really appreciates the room he's been given for denial. To say ‘fuck no' or run out crying into his trembling hands.

But he really doesn't need it.

Because now he's shoving his thumbs under the waistband and wiggling his hips until his pants hit the floor. He feels vulnerable then, baring much more than his soul.

“C'mere.” Josh says low and soft and soothing, arm reaching out to tangle his fingers in Tyler's. “You're so beautiful.”

 _It_ hits Tyler then. Standing in only boxers and a thin t-shirt in the dark, socked feet pressing into the cold tile. The only traces of light come leaking under the door and through the blinds. “ _I love you.”_ He wants to say, “You said that already.” He says instead.

“Because I mean it.” Josh replies.

 _“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”_ Tyler wants to say.

He straddles Josh's lap and kisses him, hard, instead.

It’s a different kind of heated than their first. Tyler’s hands weave their way into Josh’s hair, squeezing and pulling, thighs tightly bracketing the other’s. He feels it again, the strong surge of electricity that seems to strike every time they touch. Without fail, like it's something they know they shouldn’t be doing but just can’t _help_. Tyler shivers when Josh flips him onto his back, lips immediately trailing to his neck.

“J-Josh,” Tyler stutters, hips bucking up now on their own, which causes Josh’s mouth to fall open hot and wet against Tyler’s collarbone, roaming hands stilling under Tyler’s shirt.

“Do you touch yourself?” Josh asks suddenly pulling back, eyes open wide staring at Tyler’s lips, his own calm and bitten, teeth struggling for purchase against them.

“Yes.” Tyler answers tentatively, quietly. eyes squeezed shut tightly. Breath coming out in soft pants against Josh’s nose, their faces inches apart.

Josh loosens his grip around Tyler’s hip nudging Tyler’s forehead with his own to create more space between them. Josh’s breathing becomes shallow and his hips grind down on their own accord with the impact of his words. “Show me how.”

Tyler opens his eyes then, fingers trailing down to just above his waistband, fingertips brushing his skin raising goosebumps on his shoulders and chest. Josh nips at the ones that appear just under his collar.

 _“Oh_ okay.” Tyler gasps, fingertips now brushing _lower lower_ over his boxers.

“Yeah?”

“ _Yeah,”_ Tyler reciprocates, adding a little more pressure to his palm, erratically rubbing himself through damp cloth. _“God.”_

“Cmon, Ty,” Josh urges, fluttering silk fingers, _distracting appendages,_ over Tyler’s stomach and around protruding hip bones again. “Beautiful all for me.”

Tyler rushes to shove clammy fingers under the waistband of his boxers finally, lifting the elastic to wrap a hand around his cock. “All for you- _oh-_ _all for you.”_

“Yeah?” Josh asks, pushing the rest of the fabric down, off Tyler’s hips and down around his thighs. He unbuttons his own pants, and ruts, oh so slow, “So good, baby.”

Tyler cries out when their hips finally meet again, skin dragging against thin fabric, the last shred of willpower severing with the contact. His eyes shut tight as Josh replaces Tyler’s shaking hand with his own, pulling long slow strokes.

“Please, please,” Tyler’s whimpers escalate, spilling golden from his lips.

Josh relents finally, dropping small chaste kisses to the corners of Tyler’s mouth, while continuing to grind against Tyler's hip softly. “Let go, Tyler.”

Tyler shakes through his orgasm, blunt fingernails leaving faint trails down Josh’s back. His breath stings heavy through his nostrils, “I love you.” He rasps, voice high and constricted. “I love you so much,”

Josh answers with a groan as he rides out his own climax, against Tyler’s hip. Face hidden, almost shamefully, deep in the junction of Tyler's neck and shoulder.

“I love you,” Tyler whispers again like a mantra, “I love you.”

 

•

 

 

One of the last times Tyler sees Josh is the day he leaves.

“It was a pleasure healing you, Tyler.” His doctor quips, (Joey, he finds out, is his first name. Cliche.) It sounds like something he says a lot to his patients. The ones without heavy hearts and full bodies. “Let’s hope we never see each other ever again.”

His parents laugh and look at him, happy. Prideful that their son, their _warrior_ , made it through his first suicide attempt. Not in record time, (His mother always worries about him) but, in time. His father claps a hand on his shoulder, shoving him forward. It throws him off balance for a minute but he recovers because,

“He’s strong,” His father says, “How long until he’s back on the court?”

They all laugh.

 _‘I almost died.’_ Tyler thinks.

“He should be good to get back at it whenever he wants.” Moretti lets him down again. It’s almost too bad he doesn’t _want._

They all laugh again.

Through the windows once frosted with sorrow and “get better”s and _cold cold_ “That’s great, honey”s, and after days of wondering ‘ _where? Where is the other me?’_ Tyler watches him, faded pinks, almost whites laced with black licorice dark browns sticking from the toothpaste blue hood. Sunken in eyes twitching, dodging his own. Lips drawn tight in a straight line. Nothing new. Nothing unique. Not his boy.

Tyler wants to hold him and tell him he isn’t _going anywhere._ Tell him that he’s alive and breathing and real. He can touch him and feel him-

“We should get going. We could never thank you enough, doctor.” His mother starts the countdown clock, touching his back, guiding him to the door in the wrong way. He wants to shout and shake her hand off his back.

For some reason the way she’s protected him his whole life isn’t good enough for him anymore because he’s seen better, he’s felt better, he _is_ selfish, and Josh is almost too far to reach now.

They don’t see him, but Tyler does. He reaches out on his way through the door, hoping and praying for a brush of fingertips, _something_ to repair the days he’s been without feeling.

Josh’s shaking hands drop to his sides as he steps back out of Tyler’s reach.

Tyler wants to gasp and scream and run and take his boys hands and ask him _why he’s shaking,_ but he made a promise. He keeps his composure, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his mother’s hand burn his lower back.

“Let’s go home, baby.”  


•

 

Home isn’t home. Not really.

His bed is there, the same one made of light wood with crisp light blue sheets, but it’s not warm.

His things are there, his computer full of half page word documents and audio engineering programs, but he has no motivation to search through it.

His eyes scan over the shelves lining his walls, at the rows upon rows of golden trophies and picture frames holding mocking glimpses of what his life was like, and how it’ll never be that way again.

It’s not comforting.

He packs the trophies in a box and shoves it into a corner of his basement without asking. It’s bearable at least, after that.

The nightmares return, and he doesn’t eat for a while, much to his parents’ dismay. His nights consist of tossing and turning until one of them rushes in to shake him awake and tell him that everyone's okay. It's humiliating to say the least; the fact that he's awoken every morning not knowing whether or not he’ll be the only one alive, when that's the opposite of what he could ever want.

That's why he stays in his room.

Sometimes when he hears a noise outside he imagines it’s Josh. _‘He found me.’_ Tyler thinks. _‘That’s why it’s been days he’s just been_ looking.’ It’s never Josh.

Sometimes it’s his siblings, their loud hands and nervous energy bouncing off the walls. Their voices booming “Mom wants you to help make dinner,” or “Dad wanted to see if you would meet him outside and play some ball?”

The answer is always, “Maybe later, I’m working on something.”

And It’s not a lie, he _is_ working on something. Writing and rewriting poems, and letters, the same ‘ _Dear j,’_ at the top of every one. He just can’t figure it out; why his motivation for writing left with the only person he wants to write about.

He drives sometimes, to get it back. His tires glide against the slick of freezing winter roads at night, and it scares him how hopeful he gets. How his fists loosen on the wheel instead of tighten, and how the knots in his chest unravel a little bit. He swears, too, on everything he has that in those moments he sees Josh. Calm, eyes warily staring at him through the rearview mirror from the back seat.

Those eyes he could forever drown in, those eyes that filled him up then left him lonely.

He pulls over then, because it’s too much. He punches the dashboard and closes his eyes and talks to the gone-reflection. Tells him how he’s been even though he’s not there. Even though _Josh is gone. He’s gone,_ but god does he miss him. Tyler misses him more than he misses the feeling of his insides breaking down after swallowing those pills. He misses the way he felt blissfully empty, like all the bad things had spilled and the good things had stayed. He misses the shock of his lips and the hum of his hands.

Tyler tells the reflection this, he tells it all of this until there’s nothing left. Talking to him always relieves the pressure of ever having to write it out, so he goes home.

His mother makes a deal with him. One meal a day at least.

He agrees after a few days, when he struggles to find his own pulse and decides _‘I could eat.’_

“Are you doing okay, honey?” She asks him, in the way moms do. He notices the bags forming under her eyes and the way she sits forward on her chair. At any moment she’d be ready to spring into action; to catch him if he fell.

“Yeah,” He answers, poking at the scrambled eggs on his plate with a fork, making a healthy effort to look like he’s eating them. “I think so.”

“Your father and I, we worry about you.” She presses, pinching Tyler’s collar tighter with her words.

“Sorry,” He replies, setting down his fork.

His mother just shakes her head and stands, before dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “Eat your eggs.”

 

•

 

Church has always been somewhat of a sore spot for Tyler.

He used to love it. He used to find every joy in running through the halls until the adults yelled at him, bouncing on the velvet seats of the pews until they creaked, and especially singing. He loved singing about God and love and everything he believed in.

Now it feels like a vacuum.

What once was faith is now drained energy; a pool of still life.

Something always tugged at his heart whenever he was in the Lord’s house. Whenever he did wrong his parents would make sure to hold his cheeks and tell him sweetly that _God loves him no matter what._ It was something good. Something strong that kept him grounded, held him down, and screamed _you have a purpose._

He hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

Until Josh came.

He felt good with Josh. Safe. Like every sharp key on his keyboard. Like the sound of rooftop gravel scraping underneath their twisting bodies. Like Josh’s laugh. Like falling in love.

He knows he can't have it all.

Sometimes Tyler feels like God just up and left him; other times he feels like God was never there.

So he decides to ask.

Tyler gets out of bed early on a Sunday morning. Less angry; more driven, and showers. He scrubs his body of all the filth that’s weighed him down, and dresses. He buttons his shirt with lead fingernails and hopes to god that it'll _work._

“Sweetheart?” His mother’s voice shrouds him, bitter and harsh.

 _'She doesn't mean it,'_ Tyler thinks.

His entire family stands in the entryway, jackets being shrugged on, shoes being tied, and confused looks on normal faces.

“Can I?” Tyler asks, voice trailing off significantly, palms suddenly chalky black and itchy.

His mother looks at him sympathetically. Like everyone did, in the hospital. It makes him feel 20 times smaller. He swims in his shiny black shoes. He notices the purple shade of her skirt matches that of his tie, and the tint of the veins in her arm. “Of course.”  


•

 

Tyler doesn’t ever know what he deserves.

He sings the songs and chants the praise but does he mean it? Is he allowed?

A woman sits beside him, clad in a floral dress. Pink flowers adorn the curves of her waist and settle soft against her lap. The color twists his insides.

When the people bow their heads Tyler prays for Josh to come back. He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingertips into his thighs. He thinks he might start feeling things again if he does.

He tries to feel that once familiar power of God and channel it. The power of believing in something with all your heart. It could help. It could bring his purpose back.

The power never comes. His prayer seems too unconvincing, like he didn't think hard enough. Like it won't make the journey to whoever answers them.

It makes Tyler cry.

Thick tears pour from his eyes as he tries to remember the last time he cried. That last time had been a moment of discovery. A moment he had Josh to hold him through.

His mother alone rushes him out of the service, palm rubbing red hot against his back. The heat licks at his clothes; not enough to burn, but enough to be aware that he didn't belong under her touch.

Tyler tries to tell himself that it's okay to be scared.

Especially here, in the comfort of his own bed. He listens to the rain pour through his open window, the ledge and seat underneath it drenched. He rubs worry out of his eyes. It's okay to feel scared because at least it's feeling something.

 _‘It’s also okay to want to not feel scared,’_ He thinks. _‘You're not brave for feeling scared you're brave for acknowledging it.’_

Tyler lays stoic on his bed, laptop open on his stomach. The same start to the same letter stares at him while he stares at the ceiling.

“Sorry I’m late.”

A familiar voice sends Tyler's mind reeling, a dam knocked out. Thoughts flowing- although all tranquil- so fast and so suddenly, he thinks he feels them fly out of his ears and down his throat.

There Josh sits, on the windowsill. His hair drips darker, only the tips lay matted soft rose pink to his forehead. He's wearing the same outfit he always wears but it doesn't fit him anymore. It's too bright and positive, when if you were to look at his face you'd see the opposite.

It angers Tyler, but he's too overwhelmed to say so.

“How’d you find me.” Tyler whispers, sitting up and knocking his computer to the floor. He doesn't care. Josh is here and in front of him, he's real and beautiful. He doesn't need a letter to say that.

“Your bracelet.” Josh replies, tone unconvincing and fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie not daring to pull the hood off. “In the hospital, it had-”

“I remember.” Tyler helps, like it hasn't been weeks.

They sit silently. The only sound coming from the rain and the labored whirring of Tyler's computer.

“I’m sorry,” Josh says almost too quietly. His voice tries to blend with the sharp tapping of the rain on the windows and the pavement. “I should've-”

“I’ve been tearing myself apart.” Tyler admits, now curled up against the headboard of his bed, arms wrapped long around his knees. He says it like a revelation, like it's all he needed to finally crack. His eyes are shut tight, but not yet teary. “I've been tearing myself apart because I thought I wasn't good enough for you. I don't,” Tyler swallows, tears starting to streak down his flushed cheeks. “I don't understand why you left. You just left. Why did you _leave me?”_

“I couldn't stay, Tyler.” Josh stands, walking over to Tyler's bed and sitting. A dark smear against shadowy blue. “I just couldn't stay.”

“So you got what you _wanted_ then left.” Tyler states more than questions, palms pressed harshly into his eyes then torn away, trembling. “You got your fuck, so you left.”

“I fell in love,” Josh snaps, face falling. His gaze drops to his lap like he'd just processed what’d come out of his mouth. “But we shouldn’t have done that either.”

He swallows, once, wringing a hand around his neck. “I’m supposed to protect you from pain and hurt and I can’t do that when I’m in love with you. _I_ could hurt you..I wouldn't be able to live with myself If _I hurt you-”_ His expression twists again like it's sinful, him rambling all these awful things. “It’s hard to belong in a universe that already belongs to you, Tyler.”

Tyler's temper wavers for just a moment before his head is shaking and his voice comes out stalled. “I don't _know_ what that _means_!” He chokes, he breathes, angry. Angry as he has every right to be. “You tell me the stars are mine and the universe is mine when I don't _want_ any of that. _I_ _want_ _you_.”

“Where I’m from,” Josh starts, composure as calm as it's ever been although shaky hands reach out to grasp Tyler's own. The subject change is so abrupt Tyler wishes he could ever have the strength to pull away. “We're not allowed to go out and visit friends and family. We're not allowed to make connections. We’re only allowed to fix things that are broken, and mend things that need mended. I did that.”

He lets a tear fall, it lands, bitter on the back of Tyler's hand.

“I still don't understand.” Tyler whispers, head still shaking like he doesn't know how to cease it. “I don't want it- I don't need anything else-”

“I come to you when you need me,” Josh answers, clutching Tyler's hands tighter, sending waves of reassurance through his skin and right into the lull of his heartbeat. “But only when you need me. That's the rule I broke.”

“I'll always need you.” Tyler spits, hands reaching for Josh's jaw, touching lightly. He's furious. He’ll always be fucking _furious._

“I know,” Josh says truthfully to the air between them, cracking a tragic smile. “But I have to go home.”

“Please Stay,” Tyler panics, immediately tightening his hold on Josh's hands and bringing his face closer to Tyler's own when Josh moves to stand. “Just tonight.”

Tyler moves to kiss Josh's lips, once. Twice. Trying to convince him. Trying to convey just how lost he's been. “Please,” Tyler whispers, kissing him a third time. “I love you.”

“Okay,” Josh gives in, laying them both down. “Okay,” He says again. He sounds, scared. Like he knows the only thing keeping his head in the sky and feet on the ground are Tyler's hands, light and warm against his skin.

“It's okay to be scared.” Tyler whispers again against Josh's throat, pressing another kiss there. He mumbles encouragements like he still has to. Like he isn't the one who needs to be soothed. “It’s okay, I love you, _please don't be scared.”_

“I need you to promise that once I’m gone you won't do anything stupid. I need you here, Tyler.” Josh wraps his arm tight around Tyler's waist like an answer set in stone. His head settles into a pillow, shoulders trembling with sharp and forceful breaths- shaking, he can't deny it now- while Tyler's rests on his chest. “Promise me.”

“Thank you for keeping me safe.” Tyler dismisses, because he can't promise anything. He's done making promises he doesn't know he’ll keep. His breathing shallows after a few minutes, but he's fighting sleep harder than he's ever fought anything. Not because of the nightmares, but because he knows that this is the last time he'll feel this.

“You're the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me.” Josh confesses, staring slack jawed at the ceiling, as Tyler drifts farther and farther away.

 

 

•

 

No nightmares come that night.

Waking up to an empty bed, Tyler finds, is one of the worst feelings he’s ever felt. Reaching across the thin sheets- their color now dull and inferior in every way compared to the colors he’d felt the night prior- feeling nothing occupying the cold space is like feeling every earthquake at once. Every shift of the ocean and earth bearing down on Tyler’s shoulders.

Except there isn’t _nothing_ , there's a note.

It's not surprising, tucking the pale yellow corners in between his fingers, but the notion never fails to leave him completely breathless.

Unfolding the paper wrinkled by sleep Tyler realizes how tragic it is. To find yourself in another person.

Because when they leave, they take along the best parts of _you,_ your _somethings,_ and the emptiness of you is their beginning.

The time he was given was never enough. He thinks back to the hospital, the nights tucked under Josh’s arm, the smell that was so distinctly _him_ lingered so strongly. _“I want you to live because I know you can.” He’d said, “You’re worth so much more than you could ever imagine. You can live.”_

_Another me in you, dead. Another you in me, ripped away._

The note itself, reads, _‘Live. -j’_

Tyler wants to say he can’t. He wants to say he didn’t know _how,_ until Josh came. But that just isn’t true. It never was. He always knew how to live: he just needed to be reminded.

Josh was that reminder, that the earth is still spinning whether he’s on it or in it, that the grass _will be green_ and the sun _will still shine._

Laying in his cold empty bed he feels the denim cuffs of his jeans scrape his tired ankles, and the zipper of his hoodie digging into his back. It’s easy to laugh then, because at least he _feels it,_ and knows he’s okay.

Theirs really was an earth shattering, and gruesome love. A love that made your stomach hurt. A love that made you wish you were dead.

“I will,” Tyler says out loud, the humidity of the rain that came before his revelation clings strongly to his cheeks, now straining with a melancholy smile. He speaks to the air, the moon, and the stars that all belong to him, “Only for you.”

 

 

•

 

Life after Josh is difficult, but not impossible.

The nightmares come and go, the plot never changes, the grief always lasts, but Tyler accepts it.

His mother still worries, holding him tighter than ever as he sobs into her chest and tells her _“I loved him, I still do.”_ She never understands, but she holds, and she loves because she knows how.

He goes to church and rediscovers his passion for believing in more than what you can see, but he also respects the fact that there always has been, and always will be more than just god, just a boy, or just one ending to his story.

Sometimes he thinks of the hospital, and the pills. The shrill sounds of the highway below lovers on the roof, and how easy it could’ve been to jump. He writes it down and visits it later.

It’s sunny afternoons that he revels in now. He drives to bookstores, and the flower shop on the corner, where he’s befriended a florist who cuts him a bouquet of pink roses every week.

Tyler takes being alone less seriously now, and uses the time to think until he can’t think anymore.

He thinks, and he shows up to family meals. He thinks, and decides he wants to go back to school. He thinks, and he realizes, the way Josh spoke, and moved, and thought about life. The way he took the happiness inside himself and shoved it down your throat- he filled you with it until it was pouring out your ears. It was never a moment of strong reflection or grief. He didn't have to go through stages of denial or acceptance. It was one of their shared nothings. The sky is often blue, water is always wet, and Josh is Tyler’s angel.

Tyler remembers Josh’s smile at mostly opportune moments; ones sat in his room at his computer, finishing the letters he’d never understood, it rings loud and oh so beautifully in his ears. He writes a reply to an  __ _"I love you,"_ older than even the first actual one.

_‘Be safe. -j’_

_‘Always. -t’_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the end of this story changed a lot. That's because I originally began writing it with Tyler's death in mind. Halfway through though, I realized that was definitely not the ending he deserved. I know he's not MY character- he's a person..- as much as any character on this website is anyone's but I really felt while constructing his story that he deserved life. So that's kinda what I wrote from. Thank you so much If you've gotten this far. I really do appreciate each and every one of you.


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